


Call Me Bad Wolf

by WhoInWhoville



Series: I love AUs [16]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Double Life, Dr. John Smith, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Kissing A Stranger, Pete's World Torchwood, Secret Agent Bad Wolf, Sudden snogging, kiss or die??, secret agent AU, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoInWhoville/pseuds/WhoInWhoville
Summary: Dr. John Smith really wants to know who Bad Wolf is. She gave him one glorious snog and then ran off. How could she do that to him?





	Call Me Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HiddenTreasures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTreasures/gifts).



> Written for LastBlueTardis/HiddenTreasures for September 2017 Doctor Who Inbox Buddy month.
> 
> This was written in 36 installments, but I have combined them into one ficlet and added a little bit for clarity (dialogue tags and a bit more detail).

 

 

“Sorry, mate. I gotta snog you. Life or death.” She grabs his lapels and hauls him down to her level, kissing him hard with lips hungry, hands grabby and roaming. When she sees the coast is clear, the kiss ends as abruptly as it began. “Thanks for the kiss! I gotta go! I have saving to do.”

“Who are you?”

“Call me Bad Wolf.”

As she sprints away he only sees the back of her head, and that cheerful cockney voice is still echoing in his ears. And then she’s gone into the dark.

“Bad Wolf…” he muses, watching her disappear into the darkness. “THE Bad Wolf?”

He's seen the code name appear in those boring action reports that come across his desk at Torchwood. He never guessed the operative would be blonde and curvy with delectable lips and brilliantly aggressive and roaming hands. His lips and other things are still tingling from the feeling of her body pressed against his, her fingers tugging his hair and massaging his… He hears a gunshot. It came from around the corner…

oOo

Davros’ minion didn't see her face ‘cos she was smashed up against HIS face. She blushes. She kissed gorgeous Dr. Smith! Head of medical section! The Dr. Smith that she’s wanted to kiss since the moment she laid eyes on him. But to him she’s Rose Tyler, heiress and party girl. They've met at Vitex parties and when she's visited _Daddy_ in the executive offices. It’s a perfect cover, but not so great for developing meaningful relationships.

But then she groans begging that HE didn't see her face. No matter how many times she’s been tempted to blurt out the truth, she knows she _can’t_ tell him. Her heiress persona gets her into the places and social circles where _stuff_ happens. Bad stuff. There’s so much more at stake than her feelings for the brilliant, funny, kind, and gorgeous Dr. Smith.

oOo

He runs towards the ping of the bullet. He has to know she’s okay. But there’s no blood, no blonde, and no shooter. Her after action reports have never mentioned use of a gun. Krav Maga and Akido, yes. But no bullets. It must’ve have been the person she was hiding from. He's never had to see her for an injury, either. She's had sprains and lacerations and abrasions but nothing so serious that he would have stepped in. He hopes he never _has_ to see her. But he does wish he'd seen her face. He’d been too dazed by that glorious kiss.

oOo

She showers and changes out of her filthy field gear and slips into tight jeans, a sheer silk blouse, and knee-high, red boots. She heads to her father’s office to recap the incident. She won't tell him about her use of Dr. Smith’s lips to hide (she should). The kiss won't go in her report either (it should go in).

The lift dings on the third floor and in steps Dr. Smith. She puts on her party princess mask. “Hello, Dr. Smith,” she says in that cold, aloof, and bored heiress voice.

She'd much rather be Bad Wolf right now.

oOo

Pete looks up. “Hey, sweetheart. How’d it go?”

She drops wearily into a chair. “Had a close call with one of Davros’ mutants. And I found this gooey brain thing there.” She pulls a specimen jar from her enormous designer purse and shudders as she hands it to her dad.

“I'll make sure Tosh gets it to Dr. Smith.”

“Thanks.” She sighs. “I'm tired of it Dad. Don't know how much more I can keep it up. I just want to be _me._ Don't wanna be that shallow party girl.”

“It's for your safety.”

“Like my job’s safe.” She smirks. “Don't wanna give up Torchwood, and don’t wanna be _that_ Rose either.”

oOo

“Dr. Smith, I finished the analysis on that specimen Bad Wolf brought in last week.”

“And?”

“It’s human brain tissue that's been infused with genetically engineered brain cells.”

“Was afraid of something like that.”

“And another victim was found today. Probably homeless. And same genetic mutations as the others, plus appendages like tentacles.”

Dr. Smith takes off his glasses and rubs his tired eyes. “What’s his endgame. Why turn people into these monsters? It makes no sense.”

“Maybe it’s simply because he’s a stark raving mad megalomaniacal genius bent upon ruling the earth?” Tosh asks.

He raises and eyebrow.

oOo

“Rose you dressed yet? Car will be here in ten minutes.” Her mother is downstairs yelling up the grand staircase of the opulent Tyler mansion, funded by profits from her dad’s wildly successful health drink business. It also fully funds the shadow organisation responsible for keeping Earth safe.

Rose stares in the mirror. Heavy makeup hides the growing bruise on her cheek. Her blue sequinned, ridiculously expensive gown covers her from neck to wrists to ankles, hugging every curve, revealing both nothing and everything. It’s not her usual skin-baring party garb, but it’s ridiculously sexy in that ‘leave everything to the imagination’ kind of way. And it’s necessary tonight because bruises and cuts cover both of her arms, and her back is killing her from the heavy boot that ground her into the pavement last night.

She arrives at the hotel ballroom and finds a the worst table in the place, close to the kitchen, but it’s deserted and dark over in that corner. No one will see her there. She’s almost fallen asleep sitting up when she’s startled by a touch to her arm. She winces even though the man’s touch is gentle. He's found a bruise.

“These spots free?” It's Dr. Smith and he's with a gorgeous redhead.

She puts that bored mask on. “Be my guest.”

For the next hour, she complains about the boring food as she pushes it around the plate. (In truth, the pain meds she’s taken have given her a slightly sick stomach.) She drinks too much champagne because it’s expected that she’ll get tipsy and do something stupid and tabloid-worthy. (She’s taken her alcohol neutralization pills and her body treats the champagne just like water). And then she starts whinging how she’s missing a better party at so-n-so’s loft.

“Oooo, there's that gorgeous Jack Harkness. Gonna ask him to dance. Don't wait up for me, big brother.”

The ginger leaves her alone with Dr. Smith.

“You’re here with your sister?” party girl Rose asks, picking at her fingernails.

“Yep. And where’s your date?” He raises one eyebrow.

She shrugs. “Came alone. Making an appearance for the sake of the family. I wanna dance,” she slurs. “Take me dancing, Doctor,” she says, coyly looking at him through her lashes.

He gulps his wine and looks around the room.

She knows she’s made him uncomfortable. All of his colleagues are here, and she realises he’ll be the subject of gossip on Monday. For some reason, this pleases her a bit. “Or don’t you know how to dance?”

A smug grin grows on his face. “I know how to dance. I’ve got moves.”

“Alright then, Dr. Smith, show me your moves.” She stands and grabs his tie, pulling him on the leash from the table. She leads him to the dance floor and then drapes her arms around his neck and begins to sway to the slow standard being sung by the sultry chanteuse. But she’s smiling behind gritted teeth, steeling herself to the pain of simply moving.

Last night’s mission had been nearly a disaster. She’d fought with all her might, but had still been shoved into the back of a panel van. If Jack hadn't have tailed the truck and shot out the lock, she'd probably be dead now. She'd had to jump out of the moving truck to escape, and had hit the pavement hard, face first.

He says something in her ear.

“Hmm?”

“I said, are you alright? You hissed and whimpered when I put my hand on your back.”

“I'm fine," she lies, not realising she’d lifted her mask for a moment. “Had a tough workout today. Boot Camp. It’s hard work maintaining a body like mine.”

He clears his throat and then moves his hand from the well of her back to her shoulder blade. And she squeaks.

“You sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine.” She smiles, and then winces as the bruise on her cheek has swollen quite a bit since this afternoon.

“You're not fine. Come on. Let's get you into the light.”

He pulls her into the hallway outside of the ballroom and slips on his glasses to study her cheek. He grazes his thumb over the bruise so gently that she doesn’t even flinch. She does flush though. She gathers her wits and surveys the area, making an escape plan.

“Your left cheek is contused.”

“Was doing curls. Hit myself in the face with a dumbbell.”

“And what about that cut on your wrist, hmm?” He cradles her hand and studies the laceration.

She looks down and pulls the sleeve over her wrist. “Scratched myself helping Mum arrange roses.”

He looks at her dubiously. And then he sees a cluster of tiny blisters on the back of her other hand. “And these?” He points at the evidence.

“Burn. Was making crème brûlée.”

“I didn't know you were a chef.”

She avoids his eyes. “Listen, I'm fine.”

He frowns.

“I asked you to dance.” She works to smile. “So are you going to show me your moves or not?”

Soon they're back on the dance floor. Fast or slow they're perfection together. In sync. Lost to the music.

“I really need to go,” she finally says. “I have an early day at work tomorrow.”

“You work?” he asks.

She's slipped up.

“What do you do?” he asks.

She grins and winks. “Top secret. Can't have my adoring fans know I have a 9 to 5, yeah? Have that wild heiress image to maintain.” Her smile fades and then she frowns. She stops dancing. “That's not who I want to be. Isn't even who I am.” She shakes her head, drops his hands, and walks away.

He's left standing in the middle of the dance floor. He notices her limping ever so slightly. He thinks there’s a slight weakness in her left knee. He sees her pick up her evening bag and hurry out the door.

“Rose Tyler, what are you hiding?”

oOo

“You know, Dr. Smith never dances at those things.” Jack smiles. “Have a good time?”

“I was having a great time. Well, until he saw my injuries. I lied of course, but really stupid lies. I actually told him that I got this bruise because I hit myself in the face with a dumbbell!”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you've got it bad.”

She groans. “Shouldn't have gone in the first place, but Mum begged.”

“You sure that was the reason you went? Maybe you were hoping the good doctor would be there? You two were awfully cute together.”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “He’s too brilliant to put up with Rose the Heiress’ antics.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re the bravest person I know. It ain’t easy doing what you do — keeping up as _that_ Rose. But you _do_ get to have a lot of fun...” Jack winks.

She sighs. “Stupid Dr. Smith and his stupid voice and perfect hair and he's going to figure out everything. He’s gonna figure out I’m Bad Wolf. He's too smart not too.” Rose grunts as she tugs on her combat boots.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

She looks at Jack with sad eyes. “It’s dangerous to know me.”

oOo

“Dr. Smith to trauma, STAT. Dr. Smith, STAT.”

John springs from his desk and takes the stairs two at a time. He sheds his suit and throws on scrubs.

“What do you have?” he barks at a nurse.

“Two agents burned, looks chemical.”

He hears screams of agony from around the corner. He recognizes both of their voices.

“Hey, Doc,” Jack hisses. “Me and Jake. We’re always making work for you.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Jack hisses as a nurse cuts off his shirt. “Had a run-in with a gang of Davros’ mutants. They sprayed us with…” Jack breathes hard through gritted teeth as an IV is inserted. “They sprayed us with this neon orange stuff. Smelled like hell, hurt worse.”

“I'm giving you and Jake sedatives.”

“Wait! Doc! Bad Wolf is still out there. Someone's gotta find her. She's hurt bad.” Jack’s eyes close and he's out.

“Who brought these two in?” John asks the nurse.

“Bad Wolf herself. And then she ran right back out. She has some nasty burns. Not as bad as these two, but she needs treatment ASAP.”

“Does the Director know?”

“He's leading the rescue team himself.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Alright. Set up for chemical burn treatment. Prep three neutralization baths and get these two in ASAP. Make sure they're fully sedated.”

oOo

Rose hides in an alcove. It's only a matter of time before she's found, but by whom? Davros? Or Dad? Her beacon continues to send out her location and she silently begs that Davros isn't tuned in to the frequency.

And then from both sides, she hears that insane laughter that makes her neck hairs prickle. Davros’ minions surround her. “Humans are inferior. You are proof that emotions make you weak. It was a tactical error to return. Exterminate!” They raise their hideous tentacles and spray her with the orange poison. And her hands, and legs feel like they're on fire, and tiny little stinging blisters now cover both hands. And then the pain multiplies by a thousand as her clothes begin to disintegrate, and she feels faint. She leans against the wall and slumps into darkness.

And then there is an explosion of green slime and gelatinous tissue as the hideous mutant creatures are blown to bits.

A figure clad in black kneels and strokes her hair as he apprises her grave condition. He shouts orders at his team and Bad Wolf is put on a stretcher and loaded into a black SUV.

oOo

Nurses and techs are poised to act when she arrives. Bad Wolf is wheeled into a dark, calm room. She is gravely injured and it’s a blessing that she’s unconscious. Her protective clothing barely covers her, dissolved by the orange mystery acid. Large blisters are visible wherever skin is exposed.

Nurses remove her clothing, careful to not do further harm. What looks like a high-tech, deep-sea diver’s helmet is fitted onto her head. Oxygen, pain medication, a paralytic, and sleep agent fill her nostrils. She is slowly lowered into a tank filled with blue healing gel. She will be asleep for hours, if not days, as her body is restored, fully submerged.

Next to her are tanks occupied by Jack and Jake.

“Are they going to make it?” Pete asks, surveying the three identical healing units.

“Jake should be out of his tank by tomorrow morning. Jack has a higher percentage of burns, but will be fine after dermal regeneration. But Bad Wolf,” Dr. Smith hesitates. “The next 24 hours will be critical. She is significantly burned. Her face and neck were spared, but almost everywhere else... she’s in bad shape, Director.”

Pete drops his head into his hands. “Save her doctor. Her family will be devastated if she doesn’t make it.”

John nods gravely. “Who is she?”

Pete lifts his head and stares at the tank where his daughter is suspended behind opaque glass. “I can’t say.”

John places his palm on the tank. “Tomorrow I’ll turn the speakers on inside of her helmet. She will need someone to talk to her. To calm her if she regains consciousness.”

“I’ll stop by and talk to her. And when you talk to her, call her Marion.”

John nods.

Pete leaves the unit, leaving John alone with his three patients. Jack and Jake are good friends, but for some reason, he is drawn to Bad Wolf. “Marion, it’s Dr. Smith. I’m sure you know who I am. I don’t know who you really are, though I wish I did.”

John sits vigil all night, and in the morning, Jake wakes up. He fights against the sensory deprivation and cool gel, and is pulled out, cleaned off, and put into a bed. “Did you save Bad Wolf?” he asks.

“She’s in that tank,” John inclines his head.

“Thank God. And Jack?”

“He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Jake closes his eyes. “Bad Wolf is hurt bad, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She’s critical.”

Jake’s bed is wheeled away.

John goes to Jack’s tank and talks to him for a while, teasing him about being naked in goo.

Pete checks on ‘Marion’ and Jack every few hours, but spends the majority of his time speaking to the woman, hand on the milky glass.

John sees tears in Pete’s eyes, but doesn’t say anything to him about it. She must be a very special member of the team.

A day later, Jack is pulled out, and the painful process of dermal regeneration begins. He’s placed in a soundproof room so the other patients aren’t subjected to his screams.

Three days pass and Marion is still critical. John hasn’t been home since the morning of the ambush. He’s showered, eaten, slept a few hours, but his worry for Marion has kept him mainly there. And this worry has moved beyond the standard concern a doctor has for a patient.

Pete’s words bounce around his memory. “Save her doctor. Her family will be devastated...” He can’t help but think about that kiss that she gave him. She’d been so full of life and her voice had been light even in the face of danger. He won’t let her die.

Day four arrives and Marion wakes up screaming. “Let me out! Get me outta here!”

John is frozen for a moment, stuck halfway between sleep and wakefulness, but then he jumps into action and releases a held breath when he sees her vitals are stable.

He presses a button. “Marion, this is Dr. Smith. Just answer yes or no. Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” She moans and whimpers. Her voice sounds odd, distorted through the helmet’s speaker.

He presses a button. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Her sounds of pain have stopped.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah. Torchwood infirmary.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

There’s a pause.

“Marion?” he repeats.

“What about my team?”

“They’re safe.” She whispers a prayer of thanks.

“But do you remember what happened?” John asks again.

“Some. Those creatures cornered me. They sprayed me with some sorta acid or something. Felt like my skin was being burned offa me.”

His heart aches at the thought of the pain she’s endured, and will still have to go through to be healed completely.

“Going to warm up the gel now. It should feel good.”

“Yeah. I’m warming up now. Was so cold.”

“Now, it’s going to be hard, but try not to move.” John’s voice is calm and steady.

“Ok.” And then she laughs. “It tickles!”

“Good tickling or bad tickling?” he asks, trying to distract her from the impending pain.

“Now I’m itching. Oh this is definitely not the good kind of tickling. What’s goin’ on?” She whimpers again.

“Your nerves are waking up, Marion. I promise. It’ll pass very quickly.”

She calms herself, breathing deliberately and slowly.

“Good job. You’re through the worst of it. How do you feel now?”

“Awake. Um, strange. This goo is weird.” She laughs. “I’m gonna pretend this is an alien spa treatment.”

“Unfortunately,. I didn’t have time to give you a pedicure,” John jokes.

She laughs quietly, and then is quiet for a moment. “Doctor, you keep calling me Marion, but that’s not my name.”

“Director Tyler says you want to remain anonymous. I didn’t want to call you Bad Wolf, so he told me to call you Marion.”

“That’s... that’s my middle name. You’re gonna have to find out though, aren’t you? Eventually?”

“Yep. But do you want me to bring someone else in?” He can hear her breathing speed up.

“No,” she sighs. “It was inevitable, I suppose. I’m surprised I kept my secret as long as I did.”

“Why the big secret, anyway?” he asks.

“Knowing me gets people hurt. And I didn’t want any special treatment. Being who I am, well, people might not trust me or take me seriously.”

“I don’t know if I believe that, Marion. You’re the best agent we have.”

He sees her heart rate increasing on the monitor. Before he can try to calm her, reassure her, she continues.

“I’m someone you know, Dr. Smith. Well, someone you _think_ you know.”

“Hmm. That’s mysterious.”

“How about a game of twenty questions? It’ll distract me for a while, because I’m not feeling so good right now.”

“Alright. But I bet I can figure out who you are in ten.”

“Only ten questions? You’re pretty confident,” she teases.

“Want to make it interesting? I guess in ten or less, and you have to take me to dinner.”

“But if you don’t figure it out, you take me out to dinner _and_ dancing.”

He smiles. “But how do you know I can even dance?”

“I was at the Vitex gala, and I saw you dancing. You’re very, very good. Rose Tyler definitely was enjoying herself.”

“She was, eh? What gives you that idea?”

“You gonna take the bet or not? I’m tired of... _hanging_ around in here.”

“Ha ha, you’re very funny.” He laughs at her silly joke. “It’s a bet. Although I don’t think that either of us will be a loser. Question one. Are you tall?”

She laughs quietly. “Definitely no.”

“Hmmm. Not tall. Question two. Have we spoken in the last week?”

“Yes.”

“The night you kissed me, you were blonde. But I’m not going to assume that is your real hair color. So number three. Ginger hair?”

“No. But to be fair, I did have to wear a ginger wig once for a disguise. Jack told me it was very sexy.”

He raises an eyebrow and then half smiles. “Might want to see that.” He clears his throat. “Four. Brunette?”

“Nope.”

“Well that leaves blonde, unless you are albino, but you said we’ve met, and I have never met a female with albino traits, so I’ll go with blonde and ha! I didn’t waste a question.”

“Are you deducing, Dr. Smith?”

“Always! Permission to follow up?”

“Permission granted. Next question please.”

“Question six—“

“You’re only on five. Three was ginger hair, Four was brunette, and then you guessed blonde. And I will confirm that. It’s a freebie. So you’re still on five.”

“Okay. Five. Have we ever had a meal together? And no, I’m not counting the dinner at the Vitex shindig.”

“Yes, we’ve had a meal together. At the same table even.”

“Blimey, didn’t expect that.”

“I’m good at disguising myself in plain sight.”

“I’m still stumped, Marion. But I’m not ready to give in. Question six. Do you like pears?”

“Pears? What?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“What?” He nearly squeals the word. “I take back my offer for dinner. I don’t know if I can go on a date with you if you like pears. I won’t take the risk that you’ve eaten a pear without my knowledge, and I go to kiss you and taste—“

“And who says I would kiss you on our first date?” She laughs.

“I’m very foxy.”

“I’ll give you that,” she mutters. “Alright. I’ll change my answer. No. No I don’t like pears.”

He grins.

“And number seven. Have I ever seen you out of disguise?” And then he answers his own question. “Well of course I have. You say we’ve spoken. Okay, different question.

“This one is eight, though. I gave you a pass back on the blonde one. Not this time, mister.”

“You’re a taskmaster. Okay then, eight. Were you in disguise when we met?”

“Dr. Smith, you should really be asking which one of me is the one you’ve met in disguise!”

“What do you mean?” John asks.

“Is public me the one in disguise? The one you’ve met? Or is Bad Wolf the disguise? You’ve actually met both of me. Remember? The kiss?”

“Of course I remember the kiss. It was a _fantastic_ kiss.”

“It was, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I had to run off so soon. I could’ve stood there all day kissing you.”

He clears his throat. “Nine,” he squeaks out. “Is Bad Wolf your disguise?”

“Now you’re getting warmer. No. Bad Wolf is _not_ my disguise.”

“Oh.”

“Because Bad Wolf is the real me. The me that I want you to know, Dr. Smith. Because the thing is, I don’t like dressing up in those posh clothes and pretending to be a party girl who only cares about herself. I care about people. I care about Earth and I’m resourceful and—“

“I know who you are,” John says.

“You sure? Because this is your final guess and if you get it wrong, I win the game.”

“And if I get it right?” he asks.

“I still win.”

“Cheeky.”

“Ready?” He grins. “You are the brilliant and talented Rose Tyler!”

“Ya got it in ten.”

She’s pulled from the healing gel, and Dr. Smith turns away from her naked body, not feeling as detached as a doctor should. She’s cleaned and put into a gown and he walks alongside of her gurney. He holds her hand as she’s wheeled to the dermal regeneration ward. He whispers words of comfort into her ear and holds her hand through the worst of it.

oOo

It’s been about a year since John figured it out. It’s the annual Vitex fundraiser. They’re pressed against each other, dancing in sync to a slow, sensual beat. She’s wearing that same blue sequinned dress that covers her from neck to ankle, shoulders to wrists.

They are in a dark, deserted corner of the dance floor. He draws her hand to his mouth and kisses her scratched knuckles. It’s deja vu.

“Don’t suppose you got this cut trimming roses with your mum?”

“Sabre toothed tiger came through the rift.”

“And this bruise on your neck?” He laves her skin with his tongue, and she mewls into his ear.

“Little green alien had a helluva roundhouse.”

He grabs her bum and pulls her into him but instead of her usual moan, she squeaks and winces.

He hisses through his teeth. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I got that bruise when I fell on my bum, but I saved a little boy from a three-eyed lizard man. Kiss it better when we get home?”

“Anything for my brilliant Bad Wolf.”

oOo

Davros is gone, but there are always new threats, and Bad Wolf carries on. Rose still plays heiress and the handsome Dr. John Smith is part of that public ruse. The wedding of the brilliant Doctor and the Vitex Heiress had been quite the event. “Part of the disguise” her mother had insisted. But everyone at Torchwood knows the truth now, and they all keep the secret, because the safety of the Earth is at stake.


End file.
